


Angry Inches

by ghostyouknow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Gender Issues, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostyouknow/pseuds/ghostyouknow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel liked his body. He just hated that everyone thought it made him an omega.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angry Inches

An alpha sidled up to the near-empty bar, his body just a hair too close to Castiel's. He flagged the bartender–-a cute omega with pink hair and a Bronco's shirt--and ordered a double Wild Turkey.

Castiel took him in: green eyes, short-cropped hair, and at least three layers of flannel, which did little to hide his musculature. He caught Castiel's glare and winked. Castiel knew what he was thinking. Omega men were something of a novelty, and they had a reputation involving an alpha's sexual appetites combined with an omega's warm, wet receptiveness. It was a mistaken stereotype and an annoying one, and even if it were true, it wouldn't apply to Castiel: He was all alpha, physiology and hormones be damned.

The alpha downed his shot and flashed Castiel a warm smile. “Buy you a drink?” he asked, with an almost-nervous swipe of tongue over his bottom lip. It might've been endearing, if it had been even a little genuine. But the alpha had pushed himself into Castiel's space, and the delicate flare of his nostrils said that he was breathing him in.

Castiel raised the beer he wasn't even halfway through. “Thanks for the offer, but I'm not interested.”

“You with someone? I mean, you–-fuck.” The alpha blushed. Because, of course, Castiel smelled like an unclaimed omega. As a teenager, he had experimented with some of the soaps and colognes said to make omegas smell more like alphas. He'd mostly smelled like an omega who bathed in alpha-scented soap, and he preferred his natural scent.

“That's none of your business. Keep your nose to yourself.” Castiel said, in a harsh, firm voice. Even if Castiel were a true omega, he would not be ripe for anyone's taking. He found the alpha's presumption both rude and unfortunate.

Castiel felt no real need to alter his body with hormones or knot-enhancing surgery. As far as he was concerned, he could have a cunt and a two-inch penis and still be an alpha; if it worked for bioalpha women, it could sure as hell work for him. There were some alpha traits Castiel would never possess. He couldn't detect pheromones unless he himself was in heat, and he couldn't father children or scent-mark those he slept with (who, with a few early exceptions, were more than pleased with both his knot and what he did with it). The only time he'd felt uncomfortable in his own skin was when he launched into heat, and suppressants had taken care of that for the past fifteen years or so.

Castiel liked his body. He just hated that everyone thought it made him an omega.

The alpha shifted in his seat, but didn't seem all that dissuaded. “How about I buy you a drink anyway, to apologize for being an ass? I swear I'm not expecting anything.”

Sure. Castiel believed that one.

Alphas often presumed he was looking for their company. If he didn't seem interested at the outset, they thought they could pressure him into "wanting it." And truthfully, Castiel had a vagina and could appreciate the way it responded to penetration. He had a couple of dildos at home expressly for that purpose. He'd let omegas–-men and women–-finger and fuck him there. He'd even had a bioalpha once or thrice.

Castiel did not enjoy being knotted. It wasn't the physical sensation that he found unappealing; he was, after all, built for it, although he could think of some acts that he liked much better. It was the way alphas wanted to plaster themselves to his back, pin him down, and tell him what a good bitch he was, how he seemed so hungry for what they spilled. His first alpha boyfriend had laughed when he'd snarled, and then acted like Castiel was being unreasonable when he'd kicked him out of bed the moment the knot had deflated.

That had been a very long time ago.

The alpha flagged the bartender and ordered another shot and a beer, despite the fact that Castiel hadn't answered. “My name's Deacon,” he said, with a suspicious hitch between syllables. “I'm passing through town with my partner. We're, uh, we're FBI."

“That's nice?” Castiel wasn't exactly impressed. Nothing about the alpha screamed 'FBI.' His credentials were probably as fake as his name.

To his surprise, 'Deacon' barked out a laugh. “So, you're kinda a dick, huh?"

Castiel supposed it was slightly better than the usual slur, which was 'frigid bitch.' He thought about leaving. It would be the smart decision. Meg clearly wasn't coming to the bar tonight, and Castiel wasn't sure that she'd welcome him anyway: she hadn't returned his last two calls. He'd had a rough day in an even rougher week, and he'd wanted Meg's particular type of catharsis. He'd hate to think he was starting to get attached, so he just pushed those thoughts away.

But Castiel was an alpha in all the important ways; he was prone to impulsivity and poor decisions and letting his phallus do his thinking. He sometimes looked for fights, and he hated to cede territory. "I think I've made my disinterest clear. Go find someone who actually wants your knot. Or, better yet, go home until you learn to take 'no' for an answer."

There was something almost calculating in Deacon's eyes. He wasn't going to give up, not unless Castiel scared him into backing down.

Castiel swallowed some more beer. He lowered his voice. “I'm an alpha.”

Deacon's eyes widened. “I know my nose ain't that broken."

Castiel growled a warning rumble. “I don't need surgery and hormones to tell me I'm not one. I already know.”

"So, you're what? Trans? Except you haven't changed anything?" Deacon drummed his fingers on the bartop. "Do you fuck omegas, then?"

"Yes." Castiel fought not to roll his eyes. He hated having to explain himself. He hated the judgment in Deacon's tone, and he hated that second statement–-the lilt of interest he'd detected. "But I didn't say whether I were straight. I think beyond those categories."

He drank some more beer and waited to see how Deacon would react. Would he punch him? Flee? Offer to let Castiel work out his confusion on his knot? Bioalphas often thought that if they pushed Castiel hard enough, he'd spread his legs and beg to be dominated, even though that behavior wasn't universal among actual omegas. If Meg were here, Castiel might have sent this one her way; she'd absolve him of those misconceptions faster than he could say, 'cowgirl with a rope.'

Deacon didn't quite get it; Castiel could tell that much. But he mostly looked like he was uncomfortable and trying hard not to be.

That was why Castiel hadn't slept with a bioalpha in years. They never seemed to understand how someone could be both transalpha and pansexual. If he accepted alphas into his bed, he had to be an omega. If he slept with omegas, he had to be gay. And that was before they got to the morning after, wherein the other alpha thought Castiel had become cisgender overnight due to a sex act. There was too much misogynistic and homophobic bullshit in there for Castiel to parse. How did they think it worked with gay alpha men, exactly? Or in cases of non-penetrative sex?

Deacon leaned forward, bringing their faces far too close together. He seemed uneasy, but determined in a way Castiel wasn't sure he understood. “I like men.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean alphas? Or omega men?”

“No, I mean men. It doesn't matter if they're alpha or omega.” Deacon shrugged. “It's easier with omegas, though. You know, less stigma. No one cares if I bang hot omega twins, even if they've got a tiny dick apiece. Being with another alpha, though, that makes you a fag.”

“Well,” Castiel said. “That's gay.”

Deacon laughed, and there was something just a little infectious about the sound; Castiel found himself responding with an unexpected smile.

“I'm Castiel.” He held out his hand.

Deacon didn't shake Castiel's hand so much as hold it for an especially long second. His grip was firm and calloused. "Nice to meet you, Castiel. And sorry. I really didn't mean to push you or anything."

Castiel wasn't going to fuck this alpha. He didn't know his real name or occupation, and he'd made it more than clear that he wouldn't be long in town. Besides, Castiel had long since instituted a rule about bringing alphas home from bars. And bringing home alphas, for that matter.

But he'd had a rough week. There had been the...incident at work, and the (minor) fire at his apartment. It wasn't like Castiel could demand total honesty from a stranger. A conversation wouldn't hurt. Neither would a second beer.

Castiel really wasn't ready to go back home.

“I've, uh, I've got a nickname. It would be awesome if you could call me Dean.” The alpha spoke in a rush of words, and Castiel guessed he'd earned the real name, for whatever reason.

“Let me buy you another shot, Dean.”

“I think I could go for that.” Dean squeezed Castiel's hand, and then slipped his fingers free.

_Fin_.


End file.
